Waiting
by heatherberry
Summary: Booth had something important to add to his *making love* speech but what happens when it gets said aloud instead of remaining unspoken as their feelings are *supposed* to! Post Death in the Saddle - starts with a Drabble but gets bigger! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note. Wow, life gets in the way of play sometimes. But here is a drabble that managed to get out of me! **

**Post Death in the Saddle, specifically immediately after Booth's toe-curlingly incredible speech about 'making love'.**

**Important note: I want you decide whether he says this out loud, or in his head...Dear Reader, the choice is yours.**

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So Bones, what I wanted to add is simply this:

To 'make love' you have to be 'in love'.

Being in love, being with someone who loves you, is the most wonderful thing in the world.

You know why?

Because being alone, scared, and lost, is so awful.

Who knows that better than you? And me?

So, breaking news. I know you love me.

But I don't know why can't you say it?

Being honest with someone is not the same as being weak.

You know that, I know that you know that.

So why don't you say it?

Are you waiting for me?

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**a review is like nectar from God! Plus for future works I'd love to know - out loud? or in his head?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Thank you, thank you all so much for responding to ****my choose**** your own adventure drabble! I decided that Booth would say some of his thoughts out loud...you definitely need to read the first part of this ****fic**** if you haven't yet.**

**This is very different (I had to change the rating for language) - I definitely have a future in mind for it. I would so appreciate any and all feedback to best shape the future.**

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"Are you waiting for me?"

"Am I waiting for you for what?"

Booth jerked his head up. Ohmigod did I say that out loud...pleasenopleasenopleaseno...

"Am I waiting for you for what Booth?" She asked again.

Well it seemed he hadn't said it all out loud.

"Thank you Jesus!"

"What?"

"What?" he echoed.

"Booth?" her voice raised an octave and at least a decibel. Heads turned.

"What's going on?"

His also went up an octave. Maybe two.

"Nothing's going on. What do you mean? What's going on where?"

Man, he was losing it.

She lowered her chin and fixed her glare on him. Was she going to...yes...shit...she was actually squinting at him.

He was in trouble now.

"Booth. You want to tell me something important."

Dammit. She was good. When did she get so good? Was that his fault?

And then, she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye, waiting...waiting for an answer.

She was mimicking him, leaving a protracted silence for him to fill. What the hell? She was acting like she was trying to get a confession out of him!

Shit.

He couldn't believe it. He had backed himself into a corner with this one.

He'd really pushed the conversation about making love, invading her space more so than he'd done in a long time. He had been so sure she would squirm, avoid, flee. Hell it had pretty much become par for the course with them. Boldly approaching that final frontier, pushing it, prodding it, testing it, stretching it...then retreating at warp speed and swiftly implementing duck and cover.

Really, he'd only wanted to see her blush.

He'd underestimated her again.

"It's nothing Bones. "

Silence.

Silence.

Well she had learned from the master.

He felt the beginnings of a cold sweat.

Was now the right time? Maybe...maybe...

Maybe it was the 'making love' chat, maybe it was all the sexual innuendo of the last few days. Maybe it was how her blue eyes bore into his. He saw the challenge coming out of her soul and knew he'd been asking for this.

Something inside snapped.

He lifted his hand and placed it gently over hers. Then looked back into the inescapable glory of her perfect face.

"I want to make love to you Bones, with you. Because I love you."

Ohmigodonhmigodohmigod. He'd done it. He'd said it.

And...

Holy shit, by the look on her face he had actually done it. Not a good it.

Tears sprang to her eyes...her face crumpled.

She pulled her hand away. "I didn't think you'd actually...no...I can't...oh God."

She sprang up and staggered backwards, away from the table. He stood up, arm flailing towards her, reaching across the table to grab her.

With one hand pressed against the window, she regained her balance.

She paused and looked back at him, wildly, almost fearfully.

"Bones?" Terrified, he reached out for her, desperately lunging towards her, knocking the table and their drinks flying. Glass smashed noisily on the floor. She started to move again.

"I...I..."

"Bones, no, don't..."

"No Booth, don't follow me." She said with a finality he had never heard from her lips.

And then she left.

Glass crunched under his shoes, under the feet of the chair as it slid back with his weight as he slumped into it.

He felt faces turn towards him, familiar faces of other customers, staff; he felt their shock and pity. Barely heard their mutterings and exclamations.

Numbness washed over him and he watched through the window as she ran down the sidewalk.

He watched her as she ran away from him.

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**Argh****...what next? Does he chase her? Does he not? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Again thank you, thank you for your encouragement and feedback. This one has been a bit difficult for me as I find Brennan a real challenge to write – because she is such a wonderful character! I hope you like.**

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The driver of the car blared it's horn as Brennan unwittingly threw herself into his path. In an effort to avoid, whatever it was she was avoiding, she found herself running, as fast as her heels would allow. And she'd been running along a crowded sidewalk, speeding towards a woman pushing a pram. Evasion into the street had seemed the only option.

Shocked by the proximity of the unexpected vehicle, she staggered sideways and caught her foot on the lip of the sidewalk. There was nothing to prevent her fall, she landed heavily, sprawling across the concrete.

She lay still on her side, feeling pain in her knee and hip, a graze on her cheekbone. Concerned faces entered her vision, gathering round to help. A woman knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. It might have been the same one who had been pushing the pram? Brennan wasn't sure, and wasn't sure why it should matter. She rolled to her back, shocked and breathless.

"Are you alright?"

"I…I…"

Seeking her own reassurance the woman looked up at the other faces that gathered, faces that seemed to be miles away. Brennan closed her eyes for a second, and mentally catalogued the damage she had done to her body.

"Miss?" A young male voice this time. Brennan slowly opened her eyes and found a boy, bicycle helmet pushed back to his hairline, peering down at her where she lay.

She took two preparatory deep breaths and sat bolt upright, causing the people gathered round her to step back, startled by the sudden movement.

"Miss, you should take it easy," said the boy as he circled behind her, probably preparing for her to fall backward. The woman's hand tried to push her back down to the pavement.

"I'm fine." She resisted and met with doubting looks from all around.

"Really, I'm...fine."

She grimaced as she stood, shakily.

"You don't look fine Miss. You've hurt your face."

And she knew that she had. She could feel the throb of blood rushing to the injury site, could feel the sensation repeated at numerous places on the right hand side of her body.

Running had seemed like the right thing to do earlier. It seemed like the right thing to do now continue to do now.

She looked round at the melee of faces swarming around her, some no doubt to honestly assist her, some to gawp. She located the woman who had knelt beside her, and nodded her thanks.

"Really, thank you for your concern. I'm fine. I just need, I just need to get home."

And the finality in her voice caused the sea of people to part.

And then she ran again, ignoring the pain in her knee, ignoring the gasps of the crowd she left behind.

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Extraneous sound faded as she ran. All she could hear was the thud, thud, thud, of her heels as they struck the ground.

But then, with each thud she heard his words...

make love, in love, make love, in love, make love, in love

Some kind of tortuous rhythmic mantra. She would have to make her own to surplant it.

How could he? How dare he? How could he? How dare he? How could he? How dare he?

What had he been thinking? She relied on him to be the one who knew how these things worked. She had tried time and again to find a coping mechanism for her feelings for him, but had been unable to provide a coherent structure. So she relied on him, and his sense of honour to set the boundaries, so that she had a reference point around which to focus her actions.

He had taken responsibility for their direction and she had trusted him to be their constant.

She didn't have to worry about how she would react to any given situation, when she knew he would never react first and give her permission to follow.

But she also knew that if he ever he did cross those boundaries, this is what she knew would result.

That she would run.

And so she did.

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Her legs had carried her home.

Breathing heavily she realised in moments she would be in sight of the front of her apartment building.

She slowed as she approached the corner of her street, certain she would see him sat on the steps.

He wasn't there. So she ran one more time to the building and inside.

She slowed as she came round the corner of the staircase that led into her corridor, certain she would see him sat at her door.

He wasn't there. So she fumbled in her pocket for her key and went inside.

He wasn't there. The place she'd most expected to find him.

He wasn't there.

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An hour later, Brennan emerged from the bathroom and walked barefoot across the apartment. She had sunk into the hottest bath she could stand and laid as still as could be. The heat soothed the complaining muscles, her calves that screamed in agony from her elongated run in entirely unsuitable footwear.

And she felt better.

Better prepared to sift through the mire of emotions that swirled through her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed she contemplated. She would have liked to have changed straight into her bedwear, but she was aware he might knock on her door. Instead she dressed in jeans and a top, added socks and a jumper, then acquiesced to her need for comfort and wrapped herself in a thick cotton robe.

She sat at her dresser, and looked at her bruised cheek in the mirror. The skin was puckering where the cut was deepest, but no scab formed, the humidity in the bathroom had not allowed it. She brushed damp hair off her face, and caught it loosely in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Reaching down to replace the hairbrush, her eyes caught something that made her heart leap, then plummet.

A few weeks having nearly forcibly removed Brennan from her office, Angela invited herself round. It had been before Zach returned from Iraq and Angela had been in full interfering mode, stating categorically that Brennan should be getting out of the lab and into Booth's SUV. Brennan, conversely, had been in full lockdown mode and had deftly, or so she thought, moved the conversation to more trivial matters. They'd laid on her sofa until the early hours, drinking wine and listening to what Angela called 'Angry Fem Music'. Brennan had been nodding off to sleep when Angela had jolted her, exclaiming in disgust that there was not one photograph in the apartment.

She hadn't corrected Angela. There were a number of photos in her place, just none on display. The ones she had dotted around the room of Russ, her father, her mother, just didn't seem to be genuine. She was still too raw to derive any positive familiarity from the pictures, so she kept them in her bedside table drawer.

And she looked at them every night.

Then this morning, she'd unexpectedly received a packet in the mail.

Angela rarely spoke about her photography, but Brennan knew she dabbled, especially since Kirk died.

And it appeared she been dabbling from close range without being detected. In the packet, she had found pictures of herself and Booth, in various locations, over what appeared to be a long period of time. She had flicked through them quickly when they had arrived, stunned at the contents and ruffled by the gesture, but needing to get out of the house.

She picked them up again now and slowly leafed through the collection.

Almost immediately, she was aware of a common theme, that no matter what situation they were in, they appeared to always give Angela an opportunity to capture them in a moment when they close, physically, to each other.

First, a picture of the backs of their heads above the back of the sofa in her office, presumably taken from across the lab with a zoom lens. Booth's arm was slung casually along the back of the sofa and behind her shoulders. The shot could have been taken on any number of days but from the way his fingers were poised above the back of her neck, she remembered. She remembered that he'd arrived to take her out for dinner, and she'd had to finish reading a file. He'd slumped down in mock disgust at her tardiness and had proceeded to irritate her until she gave in and put the file down. He had used a favourite ploy of playing the childish game of tapping someone on the shoulder and then running to the other side, only he'd been sat down so it didn't work. She remembered laughing.

Then a picture of them here, in her apartment, the night of the Morroccan beer. Booth had been in the lab that afternoon complaining loudly that she only kept foreign beer in her fridge and had declared he would teach her in the ways of American beer consumption. Angela had overheard and immediately invited herself, Jack and Zack around for the fun.

Zack could be seen in the shot, holding the fridge door open, leaning down looking intently at an array of coloured bottles on every shelf. She and Booth were on either side of the serving platform, both leaning forwards on their elbows, examining the labels on bottles. She remembered how she had had trouble focussing on the label, and how Booth snatched the bottle and scolded her, again, loudly, that if she couldn't stop analysing the alcohol content of the beer, she'd never learn to get drunk.

Again she was drawn to the way their foreheads were almost touching.

And so the theme continued. More in her office, one of them on the platform at the Jeffersonian, two more at the diner, one at Wong Foos...and she gasped - was that one at a crime scene?

And in every shot they were connected somehow, either physically with Booth's hand on her somewhere, or hers on him. Or connected in deep discussion, in deep debate, in heated argument, eyes locked, chins raised, defiant eyes. But inextricably connected. Apparently obviously to all around them, given the number of shots where bystanders, colleagues, customers, friends all seemed to be watching them, knowingly.

And then finally, a picture of them entering the diner together. She remembered this moment, barely a week ago. The whole team had decided to lunch at the diner, a rare occurrence and she had barely agreed to go, but they'd all walked out together, naturally splitting into pairs as they walked along the busy sidewalk. Cam and Zack strode ahead discussing a case, while Angela and Jack lagged behind leaving her and Booth in the middle. Angela must have been carrying a camera with her, as she had captured a portrait orientated shot, right in the doorway of the diner.

It was the simplest of the shots. He was holding the door open for her with one hand while the other was pressed to the small of her back. Her body was turned slightly towards his as she was moving to go through the gap of the single door. Their bodies weren't touching, but he leaned into her and she hadn't moved away. She distinctly remembered how she had raised her face to his within a few inches. They were grinning broadly at each other.

She stifled a sob as she looked at the happiness on both their faces.

And knew she'd made a terrible mistake.

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**All reviews rewarded with love and chocolate. Now, does she go to him, or does he come to her?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: My undying love and affection for every single person who has reviewed and read this story. I am consistently overwhelmed by the response and encouragement.**

**Disclaimer: not mine :( **

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The pictures fluttered to the floor as Brennan clasped her hands to her mouth, stifling another sob.

It seemed so simple now.

He had built these walls and now he had torn them down. Hadn't she been wanting him to do that? Hadn't she been challenging him to do that? Had she really expected that he never would?

The obstacles were still there. Each reason had become like a leaden weight around her neck. She was sick of listing them, with increasing regularity, over and over, especially in the last few months. Especially as they became less and less relevant in the light of events.

She knew she had become excruitiatingly aware of her feelings for him when he was kidnapped and tortured only a few months ago. That event could in one moment seem like yesterday and then in another moment, seem years ago when it was only months. When the proverbial dust had settled, she had assessed her reaction, and realised she had been incensed, panic stricken, wild and without sense when he was missing.

And it was at that moment she realised she was in love with him.

She was in love with him too.

Tears coursed down Brennan's cheeks in an outpouring that she rarely allowed herself.

She had loved fiercely before, her mother, her father, her brother. She had loved and been betrayed by them all. But she knew and understood one fundamental thing now that three years ago she would not have entertained.

She could love again.

And she would not be betrayed.

Not by this man.

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Brennan grabbed her coat and threaded her arms into the sleeves. She winced as the harsh linen scraped over her bare and abraded arm. She back-handed the last of her tears from her face and picked her keys from the table just inside the door.

Lifting her hand to the lock, she paused, thinking she had heard something in the hall.

And knowing instinctively what she would find, she opened the door.

At the sound of the latch, Booth had frozen on the spot a few feet from her door, his back to her.

Was he retreating? Pacing?

Slowly, he turned, and lifted his head.

"Hey." He said, his voice low.

"Hey." She barely choked out.

She watched him as he looked at her and saw his eyes drift across her face, suddenly focussing on her cheek. Her stomach tightened as his uncertain look was replaced with one of horror.

"Bones! What happened? What did you do?" Apparently unfrozen, he strode to her and put his fingertips to her chin. Tilting her head up he examined her graze.

She said nothing, but felt her mouth hanging open as he moved closer to her and suddenly all the air was gone from her lungs.

"What did you do?" he repeated, his gaze running over the contusion.

"I..."

"Temperence." His voice was stern, but concerned. Aiming, she inferred, to draw her in for closer inspection, he circled her upper arm with his free hand. Unfortunately he tightened his grasp directly on another wound, and she winced again. He didn't miss her reaction.

"Bones! What the hell happened?"

She could hear anger in his voice now and knew that it stemmed from fear. Yet still, her voice failed even as she wished desperately she could speak, her treacherous lungs preventing her uttering a single word.

Instead she helplessly watched his eyes as he finally took his gaze from her face and looked quickly in either direction. Was he looking for a culprit? Did he think she'd been assaulted? As she tried desperately to force words from her mouth, she found herself being manhandled back into her apartment.

For once she went quietly.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he turned her slowly in his arms until her back was to his front. She felt an involuntary shiver travel her spine as he drew his hands up her arms and to the collar of her jacket. Slowly he pulled the fabric off her body.

She could feel him inhale deeply as the damage to her arm was revealed.

"Bones. I swear to God, if you don't tell me what happened in the next five seconds, I am going to start knocking on doors and shooting people."

Finally her voice returned, but she barely recognised it, small and weak as it sounded from her lips.

"I fell."

"You fell? Where? When?" He believed her, she knew.

"Ea...Earlier. When...When I..."

And she felt him release the breath he'd been holding and felt his grip tighten on her collar bone and she knew he understood.

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Booth dropped his hands from the soft curve where her shoulder met her neck.

All the way here he'd promised himself, no matter what happened, he wouldn't touch her.

But hell, that oath had flown out the window as soon as he had seen the ragged cut on her cheek. Even now, his heart seemed to be flinging itself wildly from the bottom of his stomach to the back of his throat.

She must have fallen earlier in her haste to get away from him.

Of all the things he had imagined her doing in the hours since she had fled, being injured was not one of them.

But as he started to close his eyes, mentally chastising himself for being the cause of her getting hurt, again, he felt her lean back against him.

Her back settled against his chest, and she moved her head to the side, so his cheek rested against the hair behind her left ear. His hands, which he'd meant to remove from her body to a safe distance, appeared to have settled themselves on her waist. She lifted her left hand and moved it on top of his, linking her fingers with his.

He suddenly found he dared not breath.

"Booth," she whisperedand paused. He waited then barely nodded assent that he had heard her.

"Booth. I'm sorry."

"Wha...?"

She lifted her left hand again, and without turning to look lifted her index finger over her shoulder and pressed it to his lips, silencing him.

She waited a long moment, then withdrew and re-linked their fingers.

He didn't think he could remain standing, his legs had turned to jelly and he knew she had to be able to feel his heart thrashing in his chest.

"I need you to listen to me."

He found himself stifling a nervous chuckle. If the building had caught on fire around them, hell if his mother had walked in the room, nothing could have drawn his attention away from the warm press of her body and the hope he felt flare deep in his belly.

"I was unfair to run away the way I did. I goaded you deliberately into taking a step I don't think either of us were ready for."

Oh God.

She did regret what he'd said, she didn't want more.

He drew a sharp breath as the hope in his chest broke like a popped balloon. He wanted to back away, run from the room as she'd run from him. But in silent response, as if she could feel his panic, she tightened her grip on his hand.

Hell, she deserved her say.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"But I'm pleased you said it."

"You are?" Despite her request that he listen, he couldn't help the words that slipped from his mouth.

He felt her silken hair move against his cheek as she nodded.

"I definitely wasn't ready for it. I had a difficult time hearing it. Obviously."

It was his turn to nod against her hair.

"But that doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to say."

Silence.

"I ran away from you today because I was scared, I have been lonely, and I have been alone for a very long time. You have given me those words Booth. I would never have described myself as those things a few years ago. I thought I was happy and in a way I was. I could have carried on, working, writing, being what I was. But you, and in no small part Angela, have shown me that there is so much more out there. That I can explore, live and love without compromising who I am and who I want to be."

Booth's heart again travelled the length of his body, pausing to flip when the word love passed her lips.

He blinked, and took a bold step smoothing his hands forward from her hips onto the flat of her stomach. He knew he had her consent when her left hand moved with his, and her right came to join them. Their hands tangled together as they laid flat against the cotton of her T shirt.

"Can I say something?"

She bowed her head foward and laughed softly.

"Of course."

"I'm sorry Temperence."

And in response he felt her slowly shake her head.

"I'm sorry I said what I did," he spoke in a rush of words, trying to head off the tension he felt rising through her. God, he was doing to her what she'd unwittingly done to him. That wasn't the plan. He hurried on.

"I'm sorry because I feel like I've pushed you too quickly, too fast. I wouldn't never have said...what I did... ever... if I didn't think there was a chance you felt the same. And I thought I knew. I've spent all afternoon regretting what I said because I thought I was going to lose my best friend."

And the shake of her head immediately became vehement. He felt her shoulders heave and knew instinctively she was on the verge of tears. He lifted his hand and smoothed the hair away from the side of her face. He leaned his face forward and pressed his lips to her uninjured cheek.

"But I did know, didn't I. I didn't get it wrong?"

The shake of her head slowed, but continued.

He drew his lips to her ear and whispered. "Who do you want to be Bones?"

Finally, she turned, slowly in his arms, slowly until their faces were once again, mere inches apart.

"I want to be me. But I want to be with you."

And she lifted her face, as he lowered his, and their lips met.

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**The end? Please review, I beg of theee!**

**but...anyone else feel the need for smut?**


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